


just a suggestion

by cemetery_driven



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Daddykink, Jailbait!Patrick, M/M, Rough Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemetery_driven/pseuds/cemetery_driven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete suggests something mid-fuck and Patrick wasn't expecting it to cause that kind of reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a suggestion

 

Patrick's clawing at Pete's pillows, face buried in them because he knows, he knows his face is bright red, and doesn't want to know anything else. He's got a love-hate relationship with being on his knees, so he's discovered. He loves the fact he can hide a little, muffle his stupid-ridiculous noises with pillows or hoodie sleeves or whatever is conveniently close to his face. Maybe he sorta likes the whole powerless-bottom thing too, sort of, they were still kinda working on getting to the really kinky shit. _Early days_ , Pete always said. Which was pretty true, because they'd only been fucking a few months now. Really fucking. Before that it had been rushed handjobs in dark corners and some embarrassingly-terrible blowjobs in and Pete's bedroom. 

 

He also kind of hates the fact that being on his knees – not really his hands and knees, because by the time they're even halfway through he's shaking and his arms have given out and he's just clawing at whatever he can get any purchase on, so he's kind of taken trying to keep himself up on his arms out of the equation because – means Pete is further away. He's there, still, of course. He's there and he's solid, curled over Patrick's spine just enough, thighs sticky with sweat where they touch. Hell, he's  _fucking Patrick_ , it's not like he's completely absent, it's not like Patrick could ever  _not_ feel Pete's cock when it was in him. 

 

But it's different, it's different when he's on his knees. More visceral, in ways, rougher and dirtier and it's fucking amazing, being almost held down when Pete presses his hand between his shoulderblades or digs his fingertips into the flesh of his hips. Pete's not pressed up close and Patrick can't see him, can't watch his mouth move, watch his lip get stuck between his teeth. Can't really kiss him either, not without risking a neck injury he's pretty sure neither of them want to explain to his parents.

 

Patrick likes kissing, likes keeping his mouth busy, likes doing basically anything to shut himself up. He's not that great when it comes to the whole sexy-noises thing. Well, he's pretty sure he's not, and he's pretty sure that pressing his face into the pillows helps make them sound infinitely less dumb. He likes Pete's mouth better though.

 

Pete likes the noises.

 

“Up. Up, c'mere,” Pete murmurs, tugging suddenly on Patrick's hair, and his knees ache and his legs shiver just a little as he pushes himself up on his arms. Pete doesn't stop though, pulls him up further, til Patrick's back is pressed against his chest, and it's a little awkward, and he feels like he's on display, like he's _vulnerable_. He doesn't curl in on himself.

 

Pete's mouthing at his neck, wet and hot and in literally any other circumstance it would be disgusting, and his breath feels almost sticky near Patrick's ear. Patrick's lip is stuck between his teeth so hard it's starting to hurt.

 

“'M gonna suggest something, mkay,” Pete mumbles, voice slurred, hips slowing in their rhythm just enough to drag a little whine from Patrick's throat. He can feel his face flush red again, redder, and he's really happy Pete's not scared of the dark. “'N you can say no, 'course, but... 's just. A suggestion.”

 

Patrick's teeth skitter across his bottom lip. They've talked about it, a little, about what they wanna do, what he wants to try, crossing things off mental lists because for fuck's sake, Patrick's seventeen years old and has a steady, constant, perfect source of amazing sex in Pete, as well as everything else he is. Best friend, boyfriend, maybe, though boyfriend sounds weird at times, but fuck-buddy is far, far too casual and Patrick isn't naïve enough to think that neither of them feel anything but friction and sweat when they fuck. He knows there's some definite things on his mental to-do list, things he's seen briefly in pornographic prints and pixels. They're working on it.

 

Patrick swallows, his mouth just slightly dry. “What. What is it?”

 

“Y'know how much I love your voice, lil Trickydoll...” Pete drawls, his mouth wet against the line of Patrick's shoulder, not quite at his neck, not where Patrick wants him to be.

 

“Shut up,” Patrick hisses, because Pete's totally avoiding the point and not now, _not now_. “Tell me, please, c'mon.”

 

Pete's hips almost stutter to a stop and he nips at the side of Patrick's neck, making him shudder because Pete's teeth are sharp. Patrick kind of hates just how light he's being though, he knows Pete can bite harder, knows he can leave marks and bruises in the tiny half-moons of his teeth.

 

“Want. Want you to talk to me, Trick,” Pete murmurs. Patrick flushes red, because he's not _good_ at dirty talk, he's downright _awful_ at it, really, and it always sounds stupid to his own ears. 

 

“Pete-”

 

“Shh, listen,” Pete whispers, and his tone has dropped again and his hips are totally still and Patrick just wants him to move. “Want you to call. Call me Daddy, Trickydoll, can. Can you do that? 'S that okay? If it's not, like-”

 

“Shut up,” Patrick breathes, because _shit_. He kinda wants to hear Pete say it again.

 

“Call me Daddy,” Pete repeats, and he starts moving his hips again and after the brief pause it's like heaven all over again.

 

Patrick darts his tongue out to wet his lips, because  _goddamn_ . He'd seen this, he'd seen it once or twice and it hadn't been a  _must do_ but right now, it jumped all the way up the list. He figures if Pete wants it, he wants it, and it's not like it's some fucked-up level of bondage or whatever and he's gotta admit, it's always kinda intrigued him. Even if only a little bit.

 

“Please,” Patrick murmurs, and Pete's hand finds his way to the curve of Patrick's stomach, and if there was any time that he'd curl into a ball it'd be now, but the urge doesn't come. Maybe he's getting better with it. He's getting better with it with Pete anyway. “Daddy, Daddy Pete.”

 

Pete lets out a low, bit-back groan and his head falls to Patrick's shoulder, his hair sticky and slightly cool. “Fuck, yes.”

 

Patrick can't help but bite back a little smirk, because Pete sounds really fucking good when he's guttural, when his voice drops in volume and there's not much left of his vocabulary but curse words and variations of Patrick's name.


End file.
